


I Can Handle It

by stilinski_wolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Although it gets close to a little slashy at the end ;), Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post season 3a, Pre-Slash, Stiles is getting bullied, just a lil' bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinski_wolf/pseuds/stilinski_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having the sheriff as his father can be a little unpleasant for Stiles at times - if only because sometimes kids take their anger at his father out on Stiles and like to bully him - but Stiles can mostly ignore it, because it isn't <i>that</i> bad, not really.</p><p>Not until one guy takes getting arrested by his father a little too badly and decides to take out his anger on Stiles, and Stiles unfortunately isn't able to escape a beating from him.</p><p>Afterward, the only person he can think to go to is Derek, and so Stiles does, and Stiles is able to feel a little bit better by the end of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Handle It

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in response to a prompt on Tumblr, and it was after season 3A had aired but a little bit before Season 3B started.

Being the Sheriff’s kid had its perks. Like being able to get away with some things when others wouldn’t, like knowing the ins and outs of the police station, like being able to know what crime is going on in the city before anyone else does, like being able to ask a favor if it was needed. And just recently, getting help in order to cover up supernatural goings on in the city from the rest of the blissfully ignorant Beacon Hills population.

But sometimes, it unfortunately had its downfalls.

Like kids coming up to him and shoving into a locker, sneering out a “you going to tattle to your daddy about that, Stilinski?” or coming up to him about his father holding them over night for being caught drinking beer or smoking drugs and punching him the gut saying, “you can pass that along to your dear ol’ dad.”

It was nothing, really. Stiles could handle it. 

It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that they got caught, or that they were even drinking and smoking pot in the first place. And it wasn’t his father’s, either. He was just doing his job.

But Stiles guesses they had to take their anger and embarrassment out on someone, and Stiles was the easiest target. Not the actual law, but pretty damn close to it. 

And one of their fellow peers. So it was was easy to shove or punch or pull his hair so they could get some satisfaction for being detained, arrested, having it put on their permanent record, even if they were still minors and the offenses wouldn’t matter in the future anyway. 

It really wasn’t anything Stiles couldn’t handle. He had it under control. And it didn’t happen so often that it was entirely bothersome or anything. Just a couple bruises here or there every once and a while. He got plenty from running away from and to supernatural creatures and fighting them all the time. It was really nothing.

Until one day when one of the big jocks on the lacrosse team took it too far.

He’d been sitting on the bench, the usual for him, even though he’d scored those goals at the big game last year, when one of the usual first liners dropped down next to him on the bench. The guy, he couldn’t remember his name, Gary, Gregory, something like that, was glaring murderously at Stiles, and Stiles had no idea why. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because. You’re daddy arrested me over the weekend, and now I can’t play. I’m benched, just like rest of you pathetic losers,” Gregory or Gary spat, leaning in close to Stiles. “After the game, you better try to leave before everyone else, because you don’t want to be alone with me.”

Stiles swallowed passed the lump in his throat, electing to ignore the fear in his gut. “I wasn’t the one who arrested you. And I wasn’t the one who broke the law in the first place.”

“It wasn’t me,” Gregory spat, moving forward and discreetly punching Stiles as hard as he could without really hurting him in the side. 

Stiles winced, clenching his teeth. 

“I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and your asshole father decided to arrest first, ask questions later.”

“I guess you now know how people who are not white and male feels,” Stiles snarked.

Gary took a hold of the back of Stiles’ neck in a show of a friendly hold, just two guys having a chat, but in reality he was holding on, and holding on tight, causing Stiles to flinch. “You think you’re funny, Stilinski?”

“Um…yeah?” Stiles said, and he wondered what was wrong with him that he kept talking when he knew he should shut up and leave it alone. It was just egging on the guy more, and it would be worse for Stiles if he ever caught up to him. 

The guy smirked in a ugly, slightly creepy way. “Well, you’re not,” He spat. “And since I can’t beat dear daddy into a pulp because I’d just get arrested again, guess who’s the next best thing?” Gregory sneered. 

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. “Me.”

“Yeah. And since you won’t be able to prove it was me, it will also send a nice message to daddy without me having to get arrested. Just you wait, Stilinski. Just you wait.” Then he patted Stiles on the back, hard, and moved to the other end of the bench, a murderous look on his face.

Stiles didn’t have to wait long. 

His father had made it to the game at the last minute, and he’d stopped Stiles on his way to the locker rooms to talk to him and ask if he’d played at all, if he was going to be home later or stay at Scott’s. 

Stiles ended up being one of the last people in the locker room. 

And by the time he’d finished changing, he was the only person left in the room. 

Except for Gary. Or Gregory. Stiles still wasn’t sure of his name.

And the minutes Stiles closed his locker and turned around, he got a fist to the face. Stiles’ head banged into the locker as he staggered back, feeling pain flood his face. 

“Do you have any idea?” Gary raged, moving forward and taking Stiles by the lapels of his shirt and lifting him up and over the bench to the ground. “Do you have any idea what me getting arrested cost me?” Stiles felt the punch to his gut and coughed as the wind was knocked out of him. “My family won’t talk to me, I’m grounded for two fucking months! I got everything, my computer, my car, my phone, the tv, taken away from me. My girlfriend broke up with me. I’m out of the lacrosse for the rest of the season, that arrest goes on my permanent record! I’m on probation at school! I’ve lost everything! My life is over! And it’s all your fucking daddy’s fault. He ruined my life!” 

As Gary ranted, he punched and punched and punched, twisted limbs and brought down his foot onto limbs, onto hands, and Stiles tried to fight back, got a punch to Gregory’s leg that had him stumbling back for a second.

But that made him only run after Stiles, who’d been trying to crawl away, and grab him by the hair. “I don’t fucking think so, Stilinski.” 

And then he hit Stiles’ head against the bench, and Stiles gasped as he felt blood trickle down the side of his head. ”St-stop!” Stiles tried weakly. “Gregory, please stop!”

"My. Name. Isn’t. Gregory!” Not-Gregory shouted, emphasizing each word with a punch to Stiles’ face. “It’s Gary!”

Oh, well, good to know.

Stiles could open his eyes just enough to see the punch heading straight at his face, and then everything went black.

=*=

When Stiles woke up, he realized two things. He hurt all over, and that he was lying on the ground in the dark, cold locker room. 

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but it couldn’t have been long, because when he checked his phone, there were no missed calls or phone messages from his dad or anyone wondering where he is. 

This, Stiles couldn’t hide or shrug off, and that irritated him more than anything else. 

Letting out a short, soft sob, Stiles sat up, using the bench as leverage to hold himself up.

He felt everything, everywhere. Gary had punched him multiple times in the stomach, had kicked him in the stomach, the hips, had stepped on his legs, had twisted his right arm so much that whenever Stiles moved it, pain flared up and caused Stiles to gasp. Stiles didn’t even want to think about his face, his head. 

He tasted blood in his mouth. 

He spit out as much as he could, and it just dribbled down onto his shirt. 

Stiles looked around him, saw just a small blood stain right next to where he’d been resting his head. Gary must have cleaned up after he finished beating the living shit out of Stiles. How fucking thoughtful.

And since Stiles didn’t want to have to explain the small bloodstain on the ground, he gingerly stood up, went over to one of the sinks and ignored the mirror, not wanting to look at himself, and wet a paper towel.

After he cleaned up the lone blood stain, he limped over to his bag and pulled out his phone.

He couldn’t go home. There was no way. 

Stiles scrolled through his contacts until he got to Scott’s name, hovered over it as he contemplated calling him. Scott was probably out with Kira, his girlfriend of four months and who’d helped them during the whole Kitsune trickster nightmare. 

Stiles didn’t want to disturb him with this. Stiles knew Scott was his best friend and technically his Alpha, and he should go to him with this. But Stiles was still human, and didn’t answer to his Alpha in the way that Isaac did. 

Also, Scott would just demand that Stiles go to his father about this, that he would handle it, and Stiles didn’t want that. Didn’t want to put his dad through this. Not after everything, and Stiles didn’t want him to feel any guilt over this. He didn’t know about the few knocks and shoves and hair pulling Stiles had to deal with, and he didn’t have to know about this. Stiles would always protect his father if he could, even from this. 

And he could definitely protect him from this.

And so Stiles scrolled back up, and stopped at the only person he could think of to go to at this point.

But he didn’t want to call Derek about this. He’d probably just rush to him, and call Scott before Stiles could stop him.

So Stiles just texted his dad that he was staying at Scott’s overnight, gathered his things, stood up gingerly, and limped slowly out of the locker room into the dark, quiet hallway. 

~*~

Stiles winced, sucked in a deep breath as he climbed the last stair up to Derek’s door. He’d gotten a new apartment in town when he’d come back, and it was seriously biting Stiles in the ass, because there was no elevator up to the second level of the two story apartment building. 

With tears swimming in his eyes, Stiles reached up with his left, uninjured hand and rang the doorbell. 

It took a long, quiet, tense moment before Derek was opening the door.

It took Derek only a second to adjust to the light shining outside, and when he did, he took in Stiles’ appearance, and a look of horror immediately appeared on his face. “Stiles?”

“Hi,” Stiles said weakly. 

“Stiles, what happened? Who did this? What did this?” Derek said frantically, moving forward and stopping with his hands hovering over Stiles before he could touch him. 

“Can I come in?” Was all Stiles said, pleading silently with his eyes for Derek to say yes.

“Yes, yes of course, come in,” Derek said, moving aside for Stiles to limp inside. 

Derek closed his door behind him, and directed Stiles into his living room off to the left, and sat him on the blue couch he’d brought from his old loft. 

“I’ll get you some water and ice,” Derek said. “Wait here.”

Stiles sunk into the couch, holding in a whimper of relief as he dropped his bag to the floor. 

Derek came in a few moments later, carrying a glass of water and an icepack. Derek handed Stiles the glass of water, and when he went to hand Stiles the icepack, Stiles tried to take it, hold onto it, but it seemed Gary might have broken his hand, and so the icepack just fell to the floor.

Derek looked angry as he saw Stiles’ mangled, bruised and bloody hand. “Here, just…” Derek moved forward and grabbed the icepack, sitting on the coffee table in front of Stiles and leaning forward to press it lightly to Stiles’ left cheek. 

Stiles hissed but still managed to get out a, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I mean it,” Derek said through tight lips, that look of anger still on his face. 

They were silent for a moment as Stiles took a tentative sip of water, fought back tears as it hurt to swallow. 

But then Derek broke the silence. “What happened, Stiles?” 

Stiles felt a tear run down his cheek, and wished his face wasn’t beaten to a pulp and hurting so much so he could wipe it away.

“It wasn’t anything supernatural." 

"So just your run of the mill asshole,” Derek said, his jaw clenching in his anger. 

“Basically,” Stiles tried to laugh, stopped and winced in pain. 

“Stiles, we should get you to a hospital,” Derek said, worry clear in his voice. 

“No. No hospital,” Stiles said vehemently. “My dad will find out that way.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Derek asked.

“Because…because…this…” Stiles trailed off, looking away from Derek and off to the side. 

Derek sighed. “Let me at least call Scott.”

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “At least not yet. Please, Derek. Please,” Stiles stressed when Derek didn’t look like he was going to let up.

“Why don’t you want to call Scott?” Derek asked tentatively.

“Because he’ll want to tell my dad, and I just can’t…I can’t tell him about this.”

“Why not?” Derek said.

“Because…” Stiles swallowed heavily, willing the tears to stay back. “Because the guy who beat me up was arrested by him last week, and so he took out his anger on me. I don’t…I don’t want my dad to feel guilty about this. It wasn’t his fault,” Stiles said, shivering as Derek moved the ice pack to his other cheek, the press of it against his cheek gentle. 

“Stiles-”

“No, Derek,” Stiles said loudly, looking straight into Derek’s eyes. “He's my father, my choice. And I am asking you to leave it be. Please. For me,” Stiles added, and he knew he got Derek when he just sighed and nodded. “Plus, after everything, he deserves a break,” Stiles said softly, taking another tentative sip of water. 

“And what about you, Stiles?” Derek said incredulously. “Just a few months ago you were losing your mind.”

“I can handle it,” Stiles said with heat in his voice. 

“You’re too stubborn for your own good," Derek said with a hint of fondness in his voice.

“Yeah, well, right back at you,” Stiles mumbled, looking into Derek’s eyes.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Derek said quietly, and then he moved right next to Stiles on the couch, taking a closer look at Stiles’ injuries.

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles sighed, closing his eyes at the comforting feeling of Derek’s breath fanning across his cheek.

“This guy has serious problems,” Derek murmured, distress clear in his voice. “This is going way overboard.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “But what can you do?”

“There are a lot of things you can do,” Derek said, standing up and taking the icepack away. “You can tell you dad, and he can arrest the fucker. Again.”

But Stiles was already shaking his head. “There isn’t any evidence against him.”

“What about his hands?” Derek practically shouted. “Unless he’s a fucking werewolf, it’s safe to say they won’t have healed yet.”

Stiles shook his head. “He’ll probably hide them with bandages or give some excuse before I say anything.”

“And who will your dad believe, huh? The guy he’s already arrested once or his own son?” Derek pressed, annoyance on his face.

Stiles just shook his head again. “I just want this to go away. And if I get him arrested again, he’ll just get out and hate me even more and come after me again.” 

“Yeah? And what if he does more dumb shit and your dad arrests him again? He’ll just beat you up again, and he might not stop the next time." 

"He’s a senior,” Stiles said. “He’ll be graduating in a few months and then he’ll be gone. If I just leave it alone-”

“If you leave it alone it will probably get worse,” Derek pointed out. “If you tell your dad, he’ll probably get a couple months in jail and-”

“But then he wouldn’t graduate and get the hell out of here,” Stiles said. Sighing, Stiles stood up - slowly - and set the water on the coffee table. “I’m just tired, Derek. And I want to forget about it. Can I just stay here for tonight? Please?" 

"Of course,” Derek said quietly, walking up to Stiles. “I have some sleep clothes you can change into." 

"Thank you.” Stiles said, and Derek just shook his head and kissed Stiles on the forehead, surprising Stiles. 

“You can sleep in my bed.”

“Oh no, Derek, I couldn’t-”

“You’ll sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch. No arguments. I’ve slept on worse,” Derek said.

And Stiles couldn’t really say no, didn’t really feel like it as he was directed into Derek’s room.

Stiles waited for Derek to get the clothes before he went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Setting the clothes on the closed toilet lid, Stiles stood in front of the mirror and let himself look. 

Stiles winced at his face. He was surprised his eye wasn’t swollen all the way shut, but it looked close to it. His face was, in a word, a mess, and Stiles could barely recognize himself.

Using his left hand, Stiles pulled his right sleeve down and off his arm, and then basically shimmied out of his shirt, seeing as he couldn’t move his right hand - which was probably, most definitely, broken - and stepped out of it. He took a good look at his torso, saw the bruises marring his stomach, the bottom of his chest, and felt like crying.

But he held it together enough to push off his pants, crying out when he accidentally stood on his bad leg. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

Stiles moved back enough to take in his whole body, turned every which way to get the full scope.

He was screwed. There was no way he’d be able to hide this from his dad. Not unless he stayed at Derek’s for several days, maybe longer. If he could get away with that, though, then maybe his injuries would heal enough for him to pass it off as him falling down and hurting himself. Maybe.

Stiles was able to get the sweats Derek had given him on, and he had to pull his right arm through the arm hole of the shirt, and it hurt like a mother fucker.

When Stiles left the bathroom, Derek was waiting for him, sitting on the bed. His eyes strayed to Stiles’ bruised arms, which were no longer hidden by Stiles’ long sleeved shirt. 

“Um…” Stiles cleared his throat, shifting on his feet as Derek stood up and walked over to Stiles. 

“I would have helped you, you know,” and at Stiles’ confused look, “taking off and putting on your clothes.” Then Derek’s cheeks flushed a little at Stiles’ eyebrow raise. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s fine. I handled it myself." 

Derek said nothing, just nodded and moved aside and toward the bedroom door. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, Stiles. Get some rest.”

"Do you think-” Stiles started before he stopped himself. But Derek turned back around anyway, eyebrow raised in question. “I just…” Stiles swallowed past the lump in his throat, embarrassment already rising. “I was, well, wondering if you could maybe…stay here tonight?”

Derek froze, shock on his face as he stood at the door. 

“I just mean, you know…sleeping, actually sleeping. Nothing other than that. I just need…” Stiles trailed off, not knowing what he needed, just that he didn’t want to be alone. 

Derek took a long time to answer, but when he did all he said was, “okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek nodded, moving over to the bed and lifting the covers for Stiles to get in.

Stiles felt a small smile come to his split lips, ignored the slight pain of it and gingerly slid under the covers and into the bed. He found the best comfort on his back, and he breathed out slowly as Derek slid in next to him. 

“Goodnight, Stiles." 

"Goodnight,” Stiles said quietly as Derek turned off the light and brought the room into darkness. 

At some point it became too uncomfortable to lay on his back, so Stiles slowly, while holding his breath, turned on his right side, the lesser of the two evils, and winced as he settled in.

But then he felt a warm arm come around him, and then Derek was pressed up against his back. gently holding onto him as he settled in as well.

“Derek…?” Stiles said into the dark.

“Shh. Go to sleep, Stiles.” Is all Derek said before falling silent.

And then Derek tangled his leg with Stiles’ good leg, surrounding Stiles in warmth and safety.

This was new, very new, and surprising. But if felt good, it felt safe, if felt right.

So Stiles let the tension in his body go, sank back into Derek so he could spoon him, and let Derek twine his fingers with Stiles’ on his good hand.

Feeling better than he had all evening, Stiles closed his eyes, wrapped up and safe and feeling somehow whole and healed in Derek’s arms, and fell into sleep.


End file.
